


cold enough to chill my bones

by xinchun (neomin)



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm, major trigger warning, romance isnt really a big deal in this story so dont expect a lot of it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-04-27 04:44:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14417943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neomin/pseuds/xinchun
Summary: Zhangjing is always cold - not because his body gave up on him, but because he gave up on himself.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> major tw!! this is such a spoiler lol im supposed to like give lil hints until u figure it out but idw trigger anyone so yes zj has an eating disorder here so dont read if ur uncomfy w it!! also rly angsty which is a major contrast w my previous fics heh,, this is also chaptered!!

Almost pitch black; suffocating.

It was dark within the confines of their dorm – too dark for anyone to make out the position of the hands of the clock hanging right above the doorway where thin cobwebs were starting to gather until they’re thick and very visible.

Zhangjing’s eyes darted around to see nothing but blackness surrounding him, his pupils dilating.

Unsettlingly tranquil; vulnerable.

He didn’t need a clock to know it was past midnight already. Not when everybody was already deep asleep, one of them snoring lightly, and he had been lying on his bed since what felt to him like forever. Not when it was already the tenth – or eleventh or twelfth, perhaps – time it happened – that is, him being unable to sleep and it was all because he was really, really cold.

The blanket comfortably settled on top of his short figure, completely covering him from under his nose – it’s in the open for him to breathe – to past his toes. The air conditioner was turned off; the electric fan on, however to only the first level and was facing the opposite direction. Zhangjing noticed he was the only one cold.

But he had always been cold.

He sat upright from his lying position, half the blanket falling and bundling on his lap.

Slipping out from his bottom bunk bed, the sudden breeze from the fan made him shiver – as it was circulating around the small room - the cool – was it? – air dancing on his now exposed skin. His head was suddenly light from standing up too fast; he let himself stand still for a few more seconds to let the feeling go away. His hands, on instinct, held opposite arms, rubbing up and down to create some friction in a feeble attempt to warm at least a part of himself. He had to release quickly after, as he needed to climb to the top of their bunk bed where Yanjun was sound asleep.

After a minute of grabbing in the air blindly, waving his hands as he walked sideward, his hand made contact with the familiar wooden texture of the ladder. He sighed in relief, then took a deep breath before climbing, gripping the steps tight when he lifted himself up.

 “Yanjun,” Zhangjing whispered softly just for Yanjun to hear, only to get no response.

He crawled over to Yanjun’s head, careful not to crush Yanjun under him. The soft mattress sank under the weight of his hands and feet with each step. His heart almost stopped beating when his hand landed on skin – Yanjun’s chest? – instead of the cloth material of the bed and he immediately retracted his arm. He stopped moving forward when they’re face to face, Zhangjing’s hands on both sides of Yanjun’s head, right above the shoulders – not that he could see, but that from the number of times he’d done it, he’d practically memorised the areas and dimensions of the bed.

“Yanjun,” he called again, this time a little bit louder than a whisper. “Lin Yanjun,”

His voice was delicate, like something tangible in the air that the moment you reach out to touch it, it shatters.

Zhangjing thought it was hopeless until Yanjun groaned. He opened one eye, being too sleepy and saw darkness, but he knew it was Zhangjing right above him. “Cold again?” he asked, voice groggy and Zhangjing felt guilty for waking him up even if the younger would tell him he didn’t mind because he thought he knew Yanjun did mind.

“Yeah,” the older said sheepishly before the younger scooted over to the side, head bumping into one of Zhangjing’s hands. Then there was enough space for the older, so he settled down, back facing the other.

Yanjun pulled Zhangjing closer; Zhangjing could feel warmth from the body pressing against him from behind. Cloth against skin, Yanjun wore nothing but shorts. His arm is around Zhangjing’s waist, his other hand now twirling Zhangjing’s curly locks. “This is the third time this week, and it’s only Thursday.”

Yanjun’s hand slithered from Zhangjing’s waist to his hand. A breath hitched in Zhangjing’s throat when he did – and the sound did not go unnoticed. The whole room was silent, the only sound coming from the electric fan, sounding a lot like rain, silent snores – from Ruotian, most likely - and light breathing from the two. “Your hand is so cold,” he said, his breath tickling the back of Zhangjing’s ear.

Darkness is the absence of light, the same way coldness is simply the absence of heat.

Internally, he didn’t have any energy within him to withstand the cold and maintain his body temperature. It wasn’t really cold, per se, it’s just like Zhangjing’s body was on the verge of giving up trying to absorb warmth.

Yanjun just interlocked his and Zhangjing’s fingers, holding the other’s hand tighter and giving some of his warmth. It spread and the older could finally fall asleep. Zhangjing’s breathing evened out and his head fell back on the pillow more, his grip on Yanjun’s hand loosening.

Seeing as the older was finally able to sleep, the younger let himself follow. When he released his hold on the other’s hair, a few strands came along with his hand.

_No, it’s Zhangjing that gave up on himself._

 

It was much more noticeable in the morning.

Light was pouring in through the window, a great contrast to the darkness last night. The room was bright; sunlight bounced off the lone glass on the table; the clock’s bigger hand was between 8 and 9, the smaller a few minutes shy of landing exactly on top of 6.

Most of the time, Yanjun woke up with a bed half empty. A huge space beside him vacant, reserved for a certain person, very much like the hole in his heart. This time, however, Yanjun woke up with Zhangjing still peacefully sleeping in his arms, almost exactly how they were the previous night.

The room would be empty if it weren’t for them. Everyone else had left and seen them sleeping together – not that Yanjun minded. It was unspoken of, but everybody just seemed to acknowledge whatever special connection the two had.

 “Zhangjing,” he whispered, and the other’s eyes immediately shot open, like he had been sleeping so lightly.

Zhangjing turned to Yanjun. He felt blood rushing to his cheeks when he did, their faces close in proximity to each other, not to mention the younger’s arm still on his waist. In Yanjun’s sight though, Zhangjing was pale, his skin grey and lifeless, his cheeks not red like how Zhangjing felt they were. He kept forgetting Yanjun liked to sleep half-naked, catching himself off guard when he avoided looking at the other’s face and shifted his eyes downward.

Out of few parts flusteredness but most parts self pity, he turned to lie on his back, facing the blank ceiling. _God, what he would do to get a body like that._

He shook the thought out of his head. “Let’s get going to class,” He sat upright and made his way to the ladder, almost letting himself just drop to the floor, in such a rush.

Yanjun glanced at the clock again to check - 28 minutes left before their first period. “There’s still time. Let’s get breakfast first, quickly,” For a split second, Zhangjing looked like he was panicking – like he didn’t want to be there.  His eyes were wider than usual and they darted around the room, back and forth from the clock to anywhere else.

“Alright,” He gulped, not looking enthusiastic, a somber demeanor mismatched with his bubbly personality.

Zhangjing bent over to pick up one of Yanjun’s black oversized pullovers – left lying on the floor along with several other pieces of clothing waiting to be tucked neatly in the closet – to layer on top of his uniform, both to battle the constant cold, and to hide his figure.

Yanjun noticed Zhangjing’s – sad? tired? – eyes lingering on the mirror for perhaps a second too long.

While they were walking, Yanjun didn’t forget to try cheering the other up, whatever he might have been bothered with. He poked the older’s cheek with his pointer finger and he pulled the corner of Zhangjing’s lips upward. “Smile, please,”


	2. ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING (purging) for this chapter!! this whole fic is based on having ednos so if ur uncomfy or might get triggered w eating disorders or ed-like behaviour of any kind pls dont read this ttttt the whole fic . will be like this more or less : (

It was much more noticeable in the morning.

Light was pouring in through the window, a great contrast to the darkness last night. The room was bright; sunlight bounced off the lone glass on the table; the clock’s bigger hand was between 8 and 9, the smaller a few minutes shy of landing exactly on top of 6.

Most of the time, Yanjun woke up with a bed half empty. A huge space beside him vacant, reserved for a certain person, very much like the hole in his heart. This time, however, Yanjun woke up with Zhangjing still peacefully sleeping in his arms, almost exactly how they were the previous night. The room would be empty if it weren’t for them. Everyone else had left and seen them sleeping together – not that Yanjun minded. It was unspoken of, but everybody just seemed to acknowledge whatever special connection the two had.

“Zhangjing,” he whispered, and the other’s eyes immediately shot open, like he had been sleeping so lightly. Zhangjing turned to Yanjun. He felt blood rushing to his cheeks when he did, their faces close in proximity to each other, not to mention the younger’s arm still on his waist.

In Yanjun’s sight though, Zhangjing was pale, his skin grey and lifeless, his cheeks not red like how Zhangjing felt they were.

He kept forgetting Yanjun liked to sleep half-naked, catching himself off guard when he avoided looking at the other’s face and shifted his eyes downward. Out of few parts flusteredness but most parts self pity, he turned to lie on his back, facing the blank ceiling. God, what he would do to get a body like that. Not exactly like that, per se, he'd be willing to have any body that's not his own at the moment.

He shook the thought out of his head. “Let’s get going to class,” He sat upright and made his way to the ladder, almost letting himself just drop to the floor, in such a rush.

Yanjun glanced at the clock again to check - 28 minutes left before their first period. “There’s still time. Let’s get breakfast first, quickly,” For a split second, Zhangjing looked like he was panicking – like he didn’t want to be there. His eyes were wider than usual and they darted around the room, back and forth from the clock to anywhere else.

“Alright,” He gulped, not looking enthusiastic, a somber demeanor mismatched with his bubbly personality.

Zhangjing bent over to pick up one of Yanjun’s black oversized pullovers – left lying on the floor along with several other pieces of clothing waiting to be tucked neatly in the closet – to layer on top of his uniform, both to battle the constant cold, and to subtly hide the figure he was so ashamed of. Yanjun noticed Zhangjing’s – sad? tired? – eyes lingering on the mirror for perhaps a second too long.

As they were walking, Yanjun didn’t forget to try cheering the other up, whatever he might have been bothered with. He poked the older’s cheek with his pointer finger and he pulled the corner of Zhangjing’s lips upward. “Smile, please,”

Zhangjing holds the smile on his face for a few seconds, just for the other. “Alright,”

Yanjun smiled back at Zhangjing's response.

Zhangjing's heart ached.

 

  
It was lunchtime and Zhangjing was nowhere to be found.

Well, Zhangjing was always nowhere to be found during lunchtime, it's nothing quite new, anyway. It worked in Zhangjing's favour when his schedule indicated his lunch break starts thirty minutes earlier than Yanjun's. The remaining thirty minutes of the one-hour break, he always said, he spent at the library to study after eating during the first half hour.

That, of course, was a lie.

Zhangjing was used to it. Why wouldn't he be when the foundation of his whole life was built on lies and untruths? Lies such as “Everything will be okay in the end.” or “People will accept you no matter who you are or what you look like.”

Disgusting lies. He had believed them blindly when he was younger, only realising the truth when it was too late to armour up his fragile heart.

So it broke, and was starting to break and deteriorate - both figuratively and quite literally.

  
Zhangjing found himself in the restrooms that lunch break. Locked inside a stall, the bones of his knees digging in the tiled floors through the thin cloth of his uniform trousers - he didn't mind.

One of his hands was by his side, holding a half-empty tumbler of water, the other hand, well. Two fingers were in his mouth, inserted deep until his fingernails - damn, he should have cut them first - were tickling his throat. Saliva pooled at the base of his fingers as he dragged them in and out. Almost choking on his own fingers, tears welled in his eyes, threatening to burst from the dam.

He wondered if someone could hear him, he figured they wouldn't care.

He mentally sighed in relief when he tasted the bile coming up from his throat. Sliding his fingers out quickly, he vomitted in the toilet in front of him. It wasn't even a lot, it was mostly just bile mixed with water rather than pre-digested food.

He knew it didn't matter anyway. He ate breakfast three hours ago, the calories had came and went in his body already that no amount of purging could let him redeem himself.

Zhangjing couldn't blame Yanjun for making him eat, but that doesn't lessen the amount of guilt in his cold heart.

He pulls down on the flush and covers with the lid.

The dam burst and he let the tears fall, trickling down on his cold cheeks. His knees wobbled and he let himself sink on the floor without a regard to how dirty it was. He leaned his back against the door of the stall, his head down as the tears keep falling on their own and he was struggling to breath in between choky sobs.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Relax.

Relapse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since i have inspiration back ill try to update no less than once a week !!
> 
>  
> 
> twitter: @xiaojus // cc: @azorachin

**Author's Note:**

> me? writing as a way of coping? it's more likely than you think
> 
> anyways hello im ao3 user xinchun and i never learned how to proofread


End file.
